


Delete - Bollocks

by sherlockian4evr



Series: Getting It Together [7]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, Delete - Freeform, Domestic Fluff, Emotions, First Kiss, Friendship, John is not boring, John is not stupid, Johnlock - Freeform, M/M, Past Drug Use, Sherlock is delighted, The Vermeer and the Van Buren Supernova, mature for language
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-18
Updated: 2015-09-21
Packaged: 2018-04-21 10:05:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,602
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4824749
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sherlockian4evr/pseuds/sherlockian4evr
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John calls Sherlock's bluff on deleting facts.</p><p>Beta read by <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/users/Sherlock1110/pseuds/Sherlock1110">Sherlock1110.</a></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

"Bollocks," John declared loudly. "That's complete bollocks and I'm calling you on it, Sherlock Holmes."

Sherlock spun on the spot, his silhouette framed by the tall living room window. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"You just said that you deleted the fact that DaVinci painted the Mona Lisa and I said 'bollocks'. I thought my meaning was perfectly clear." John was grinning broadly. He had been waiting for the chance to call Sherlock on this for a while. He was going to enjoy it.

"If you are implying that my mind," Sherlock gestured towards his head, "is anything less than a highly calibrated piece of machinery that is under my precise control, then you are greatly mistaken."

John guffawed. "Oh, I'm not implying anything," he said and Sherlock looked mildly mollified. "I'm stating it as a matter of fact."

"Really, John. Of all people, for you to make such an error is truly appalling."

"I haven't made an error. You forget things, just like the rest of us do, then you cover it up by claiming that you 'deleted' it." John tossed the paper that was in his hand onto the floor and stood. "Come on, you can admit it to me." He wiped the smile from his face and the laughter from his voice. "I won't tell anyone. Scout's honour." He rolled his eyes at the blank look on Sherlock's face. "It means 'I promise', you git."

Sherlock snorted, then turned back to the window to look out over Baker Street. "And on what 'facts', John, did you base this deduction?"

"You deleted the solar system, yeah?" John waited for Sherlock's nod. "You don't remember anything about basic astronomy at all?" Sherlock nodded again. "Then how the fuck did you know that the Van Buren Supernova didn’t appear until 1858? Hmm? Tell me. Discerning Vermeer fans want to know." John bobbed up onto the balls of his feet, then settled back down, hands in his pockets and a grin back on his face.

Sherlock's back stiffened and silence reigned in the flat for several long moments. John started to think that maybe he had pushed Sherlock too far, torn down a needed layer of protection, but really, the man had it coming.

Ever so slowly, Sherlock turned to face him once again. The window's glow obscuring his expression. He was making an odd sound. It took a moment for John to realise that he was laughing.

"Oh, John! You are a wonder!" Sherlock began hopping around the flat with glee. "Even Mycroft never figured out my bluff. He worries that I'll delete something important." He grabbed John by the arms and whirled him around. "You are not boring, John Watson. Not in the least!"

They both burst into a fit of giggles that lasted long minutes. When they had laughed themselves to exhaustion, Sherlock walked over, grabbed John's coat and tossed it to him. John caught it and shrugged it on as Sherlock donned his Belstaff.

"Are we going somewhere?" John asked. 

Sherlock swept open the door to the flat and gestured John through. "Angelo's, John, to celebrate my being outed."

Next time, John was going to call him on the whole sociopath thing. No sociopath would have danced and laughed at being caught out as Sherlock had just done. No sociopath would have suggested dining with his friend to celebrate it, either. That was for another day, however. For now, John would enjoy the laughter, the upcoming manicotti and the companionship. He grinned as Sherlock bussed Mrs. Hudson on the way out the front door of Baker Steet. It was a rare sunny day. Things couldn't be better.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John challenges Sherlock on being a high-functioning sociopath.

"Freak," Sally muttered. 

"Psychopath," Anderson spat.

"High-functioning sociopath," Sherlock corrected. 

"Oi! Enough," Greg admonished.

John shook his head. It was another typical night at a crime scene. Both Sally and Anderson opened their mouths, about to make some more cutting remarks, but Greg was right. Enough was enough.

"Sally," John's voice was cold. "Don't ever say that to Sherlock again and keep whatever vindictive tripe you were about to say to yourself." He turned to a spluttering Anderson. "That goes for you, as well, Anderson."

"Lestrade," Anderson complained, "Are you going to let him threaten us?"

"Threaten you? I didn't hear a threat," came Greg's reply. 

Sally and Anderson exchanged commiserating glances, then walked away, griping as they went.

"As for you, Mr. Genius Consulting Detective, where did you come up with that complete and utter rubbish?" John's head was tipped back and his chin jutted forward.

Sherlock's eyes narrowed in preparation for making a scathing retort.

Not wanting to be caught in the crossfire, Greg started backing away. John turned towards him and gestured in Sherlock's direction. "Tell him, Greg," John ordered.

Greg raised his hands in a ‘don’t look at me’ gesture and took a step backwards. “Oh, no. I’m not being pulled into the middle of your domestic.”

“Greg,” John warned.

With a sigh, Greg dropped his hands and looked from Sherlock to John and back again. Just then, he wasn’t sure which man was the more intimidating. “Fine. Sherlock, you’re not a sociopath; high-functioning, or otherwise.” The look he directed at John plainly asked ‘Good enough?’ John shook his head, but Sherlock beat him to speaking.

“As if you would know,  _Gavin_.” It was petty, Sherlock knew that, but he found no end of pleasure in irritating the man by calling him the wrong name. It usually resulted in a change of subject, as well. Greg always got diverted as he made complaints about Sherlock's ridiculous and sometimes cruel antics.

Not this time.

Before he could stop himself, Greg snapped, “I  _know_ , because I was there when you were going through withdrawal. I heard you whinge and cry, moan and scream and you told me things; things that you never want to admit feeling. So, yes I bloody well know!” Sherlock looked as if he had been slapped and suddenly Greg felt like an arsehole. “Fuck,” he muttered, looking down. Greg forced himself to look into Sherlock’s eyes. “I… Sorry, Sherlock. Just, sorry.” Sherlock turned and started walking away. John and Greg exchanged looks. “John, I really am sorry. He’s more fragile than most people know.”

“I know that.” John sighed and jerked his head in the direction that Sherlock had taken. “I wonder if he does?”

Greg didn’t have an answer. “You’d better go after him.” John gave a curt nod, then took off after Sherlock’s shrinking form.

“Sherlock!” John called out. He was closing the distance between himself and Sherlock which meant the other man wanted to be caught. “Greg didn’t mean anything. You know that. He was just angry with you for pretending not to know his name.”

“Yes,” came Sherlock’s low growl as he stopped and waited for John to catch him up, “but there are things…”

“Yes,” John prodded.

Sherlock didn’t turn to face him, but did swivel his head around so that John caught a glimpse of one sharp cheekbone in profile. “It was bad.”

John knew that was an understatement. Though he had never worked directly with addicts, he’d seen miserable souls who were just going into withdrawal as they made their way through the medical system. Withdrawal was ugly and dirty and the thought of Sherlock going through that made him sick. “I know.”

“You’re the only person who… matters to me that didn’t see me like that.” Sherlock felt as though he were choking on his words. They were lodged in his throat. He gave a small cough, then continued, “I don’t want you to picture me that way; weak and pathetic.”

“Strong,” John corrected, “determined, bloody amazing.”

Sherlock spun to face him. “Those aren’t words to describe an  _addict_!”

“No. Those are words to describe a man who fought the addiction, who fights it every day, and  _wins_.” John stepped closer to Sherlock, one hand reaching out towards him briefly before falling back to his side. “You’ll keep on winning and you don’t need to hide from people by calling yourself a sociopath while you do it. You don’t need to hide from me, Greg or even Mycroft. Fuck! You certainly don’t need to hide from Sally or her idiot sidekick Anderson.” John let a slow, encouraging smile creep onto his face as he willed Sherlock to understand.

“Anderson  _is_  an idiot,” Sherlock stated. His face appeared less defensive and just a bit more open. “He’s a complete waste of air and space. I’m surprised he can manage to get dressed most mornings.”

“Quite,” John agreed. He went along with Sherlock changing the subject. Maybe the git would think about what he had said and come to the correct conclusions.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock contemplates why John cares. He arrives at a welcome conclusion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: johnlock alert. I don't seem to be able to write without it.

Sherlock tossed his coat onto the sofa as he paced across the flat to the window. Standing there, he continued to think. He had been thinking all of the way back from the crime scene. Why did John care? Sherlock turned and took three steps towards the centre of the room, stopping and simply staring at John who was busily making tea. When no answer presented itself, he threw his hands up into the air and returned to glare out the window.

John wasn't off put by Sherlock's deductions, that was obvious, since said deductions were almost always followed by a pronouncement of 'amazing' or 'incredible' on John's part. Sherlock had turned and was staring at John again. He gave a growl and spun to the window once more. 'Amazing'. How could John think such things about an addict? Didn't he understand how pathetic addiction was? Another growl slipped Sherlock's lips. He tried to see himself as John did; strong, not weak - human, not sociopathic. Of course, Sherlock knew that the sociopath label was a fabrication. He had taken it on himself as a sheltering cloak. Sherlock had always been perfectly aware that there were those who didn't believe it, but no one ever contradicted him. Mrs. Hudson did roll her eyes each time Sherlock made his pronouncement, but that was it, at least before John's little display.

"You're looking at me again," John pronounced from where he was now sat in his chair.

"Oh, do get over yourself," Sherlock spat, "I was thinking. You were merely in my line of view. He turned back to the window. Again. John had surprised Sherlock by dragging the sociopath issue into the open. Would John ever cease to surprise him? Doubtful. John had figured out that Sherlock couldn't delete information when no one else had, not even Mycroft. There was so much more to the man than Sherlock had dreamt at the time of their meeting. He should have known. John had shot the cabby just the next night, after all. Sherlock realised that he was staring at John again. Fine. He would let himself stare. John was grinning.

"No. You're not staring at me. Not at all." John's words were sarcastic, but he was smiling. "Carry on with your not staring, then. It doesn't bother me in the least. Besides, I can hear you thinking from over here. Your thoughts are usually much quieter. This case must be more challenging than you expected."

"Don't be dull. I had the case solved before I saw the body." He had sent a text to Lestrade on the way back to the flat with the details. The case needed to be closed so that he could concentrate on the far more interesting mystery that was John Watson.

Crinkles appeared at the corners of John's eyes. "Brilliant! Well?"

"It was the sister. Obviously," came Sherlock's offhand response. Sherlock had thought that John would be annoyed by the news, but he was impressed and ready with a compliment as always. Why? He was thinking so hard that he thought his head might explode with the effort.

John's tongue slipped out and smoothed over his bottom lip. He smiled self-consciously and lifted his tea to take a sip.

Sherlock's epiphany was blinding. It hit him so hard that he stumbled back a step, his back coming up short against the cool glass pane of the window.

"Sherlock," John asked with sudden concern, "What's wrong?"

Holding out a hand in front of him, Sherlock gave his head a shake. "I'm fine." John was not satisfied with that answer. Sherlock bought himself more time by asking, "Would you make something to eat? It's been," he made up a figure, "two days."

John went into action, muttering, "Bloody idiot," under his breath.

Sherlock let himself continue to stare. He was correct. He had to be. John had... feelings for him. It was so improbable as to be near impossible, but it was not unwelcome, far from it. A question remained: Would John be willing to acknowledge his feelings? Sherlock considered - John was an honest man, a loyal one, with a strong sense of moral values and, inconveniently, he wasn't gay. How would that all balance out in John's tiny, but oh so interesting brain? Sherlock gave himself a nod and straightened where he stood. John would be true to who he was and that meant that John would be honest with himself about his feelings. That meant that...

Sherlock's feet propelled him forward. He only stopped when he was stood behind John who was fussing with the cooker. John stupidly tested the heat with his finger, swore, then stuck the offended digit into his mouth. Sherlock grasped John by the arm and turned him around where he stood. Their eyes met, then Sherlock pulled John's finger from his mouth and took it into his own.  
John's eyes went wide, his pupils blew large and, Sherlock flicked his gaze to John's carotid, his pulse picked up its pace.

"Don't fuck with me," John growled and snatched his hand back. Whatever misguided experiment Sherlock was attempting, he was having no part of it. "You can poison me, drug me. Bloody hell! You can even pluck my fucking nose hairs, but I draw the line at psychological manipulation. Especially when you choose to muck about with my emotions." John's breathing was coming hard. His nostrils flared and his left hand shook. He took a step away from Sherlock and closed his eyes, trying to regain his equilibrium. Soft lips pressed against John's own. "I said no, Sherlock," John breathed.

Sherlock's hands made their way into John's hair. "You're operating under a misapprehension." Was that desperate, shaky voice his? "I know that my record is against me, but I am not experimenting on you. I never will, not without your verbal consent, anyway." He wanted to hide behind a sardonic smile, but resisted the urge. "I've just figured this out. You want me."

John, eyes still closed, let out a desperate whine.

"And I want you," Sherlock hummed.

"Oh," John whispered, "Thank God." He pulled Sherlock to his trembling form, still half afraid to open his eyes. Maybe this was a dream.

"Look at me, John," Sherlock ordered.

John did and a wide grin crept onto his face. "Not a dream, then."

"No."

"I know I said not to fuck with me, but..." John was grinning impishly.

One dark brow crept up Sherlocks forehead. "That was extremely pathetic as jokes go."

"Yes," John laughed, "it was. What's your answer?" He stole another kiss.

Nose crinkled in mirth, Sherlock barked a laugh. "My answer is yes. Always."

"Bed?" John asked.

"Mine. It's closer."

Euphoric giggles sounded throughout the flat as they moved, hand in hand, down the hallway. There would be things to say and things to talk about. Later. Later was good.


End file.
